


Jealous Assholes

by betts



Series: Of Cops & Strippers [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Fluff, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Romantic Comedy, bucky likes natasha but it's not reciprocated, the great wip cleanout of 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 04:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8954452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betts/pseuds/betts
Summary: “This is terrible,” Bucky said.“It’s terrible,” Steve agreed with a complacent nod.Bucky looked at him. “We’ve seen Black Widow naked how many times?”“A buncha times,” Steve agreed again.“A buncha times!”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to Where the Devil Don't Go. I wrote it in spring and never got around to posting it because it's still not where I want it to be quality-wise, but I'm cleaning out my WIPs and thought some people might enjoy it. I hope you like cheesy sitcom humor.
> 
> I know absolutely nothing about police work and made everything up.

**Three Months Ago**

_“Un, deux, trois,”_ Steve said. Sam, Steve, and Bucky all began chugging their beers.

El Greco’s was to Bucky what monasteries were to...whoever goes to monasteries. Religious people or whatever. Bad analogy. The point was, this was Bucky’s zen. The thick atmosphere of cheap booze and sweat. The sound of worn-down vinyls skipping classic rock hits underneath the sharp crack of distant billiards. The beautiful, mostly naked women who would never give Bucky the time of day were he not shoving dollar bills in their g-strings.

Heaven.

And when Black Widow would saunter out from between tattered curtains, _oh_ , this was what Bucky lived for. Pale curves and unabashed grace. Long red hair and a pair of sharp eyes that could see right into his soul. An ass you could bounce a quarter off and tits that could make a man weep in gratitude.

What nobody seemed to get--Steve especially--was that, to Bucky, it was about more than sex. He wasn’t openly ogling her for money. He needed to soothe an itch, a pinch of curiosity that wouldn’t abate no matter how many times he came to El Greco’s. No matter how many times she writhed naked on his lap. After all this time, she was still a total mystery to him. He wanted to know what was underneath her soft, perfect skin and devious smiles. He wanted to know what she felt like from the inside. He wanted to make her feel good, better than she made him feel.

He had a selfless, unyielding love for the Black Widow, and no way to express it.

Bucky slammed his empty mug down a half second before Sam and Steve. He held out his hand for their cash. “It’s my lucky night.”

***

Tonight Black Widow wore lacy booty shorts and a push-up bra while she spun around a pole. Bucky settled on the couch, lip bitten between his teeth as he watched her dance to some Halsey she knew he liked. They may have never had a full conversation, but Bucky believed you could know somebody simply by being around them long enough. And he had spent plenty of time in the VIP room.

She crossed the room toward him, hips swaying to the music. His gaze never strayed from her face, though, from the way she seemed more detached than usual. One of the reasons he liked her so much was because when she looked at him, the whole world melted away, but right now she acted on auto-pilot, body doing all the work while her mind was elsewhere.

She sat on Bucky’s lap, her back to his chest, and ground down on his dick, already hardening in his pants. She pulled his hands up her body to cup her breasts, a heavy dose of trust they’d worked toward for months, being allowed to touch like this. Bucky glanced at the NO TOUCHING sign in defiance, tilted his face toward her neck and breathed her in.

And maybe it was a combination of all of the above--the unusual emotional distance, the nagging feeling in the back of his head that something was _wrong_ , the heady smell of her shampoo, the way she let him touch and explore her body--that he muttered into her neck, “Let me take you home.”

Black Widow froze, body tense, and Bucky immediately let go of her. She stood from his lap and flipped off the music. Without looking at him, she said, “I think you better go.”

“But--”

She pointed toward the door. “I’ll get you a refund. Leave.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, unwilling to cut his time short.

She looked at him, and her warm, inviting smile was replaced by a glare so cold it stopped his breath short in his chest. “I expected better of you, James.”

“How did you know my--”

Her attention moved to the corners of the room like she was casing the place. “I know a lot more than you think I do. But trust me when I say nothing can happen between us.”

“Can I at least know your name?”

“You’ll know it soon enough.” She pointed to the door. “Now get out.”

***

**Present Day**

“Romanoff just finished up the Pierce case,” Fury said. “Shut down the whole operation from the inside.”

Bucky got hit with an IED once and it was still peanuts compared to this moment.

Some stuff happened after that, but Bucky was too busy scooping up his jaw from the floor. When Fury left, an ominous silence settled over the room, until Bucky stood from his desk and said, “Rogers, can I speak with you a moment in private?” and left.

***

Bucky shoved the men’s bathroom door open, holding it for Steve and checking to make sure they hadn’t been followed. Coast clear, he closed the door and locked it.

Steve leaned on the sink, arms crossed over his chest. Bucky began pacing.

“This is terrible,” Bucky said.

“It’s terrible,” Steve agreed with a complacent nod.

Bucky looked at him. “We’ve seen Black Widow naked how many times?”

“A buncha times,” Steve agreed again.

“A buncha times!” Bucky continued pacing. “I’ve gotten how many lap dances from her?”

“Six,” Steve replied.

“Six! And you’ve gotten--”

“Point-five.”

“Point-five! I’ve gotta ask her out again.” When Steve didn’t agree, Bucky stopped. “Wait. You didn’t agree with me.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t think you should ask her out.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you’ve known her for months and didn’t ask her out before. Now you only want to because you know she’s not a stripper. Just seems...unethical.”

“Unethical? Look who’s talking. At least _I_ tipped the valet at the Officer’s Ball.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to. I’ve never had a valet before. You’d think they’d have an app for that or something.”

“They do.”

Steve ignored him. “Plus, I mean, I’m pretty sure she and Maria…” He made a complicated scissoring motion with his hands.

“That’s not how women have sex, Steve.”

“How am I supposed to know? I’m not a woman.”

“Don’t you watch lesbian porn?”

“No.”

Bucky stared at him, astounded, and leapt ten conclusions ahead. “So you don’t like going to El Greco’s, is what I’m hearing.”

“Well,” Steve admitted, “no.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Steve gestured at him helplessly. “Because you like it. And they have good nachos.”

“So all this time, you’ve been uncomfortable?”

“Not exactly. It’s just...the strippers there don’t really do a whole lot for me.”

“Why the hell not?”

“They’re missing, you know, certain…” He made a wide, vague circle around his crotch area. “...assets I tend to prefer.”

“Like?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

Realization dawned. Steve could almost hear the gears turning in Bucky’s poor, heteronormative brain. “Wait,” Bucky said. “are you gay? Is that what you’re telling me right now?”

Steve shrugged. “I prefer the term ‘queer’ because it’s kind of complicated, but yeah, pretty much.”

Bucky glared at him for a solid handful of seconds, jaw clenched. Then he shook his head and stormed out of the bathroom.

Steve took a deep breath. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One--”

Bucky stormed back in. He sidled in Steve’s space and pointed at him. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t know. And I shouldn’t have...assumed, I guess.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t tell you.”

Bucky took a step back, shoulders relaxing. “So we’re cool.”

Steve smiled at him. “We’re cool.”

“And you’re going to help me ask Romanoff out?”

Steve deliberated while Bucky gave him that pitiful look like he did whenever he felt obligated to share half of Steve’s dessert. “Fine,” he relented, because he always did. “But don’t be an asshole about it.”

***

“What the fuck do I do, Sam?” Hill hissed into her phone. Her car was boiling inside. Or maybe her internal organs were. She didn’t know. All she knew was that this was the worst day of her godforsaken life.

Wilson couldn’t stop laughing long enough to answer her. “You fucked a stripper!” he managed between cackles. “But she was an undercover cop! And now she’s your partner! Girl, what is your _life_?”

“Hell. The worst kind of Hell,” Hill said. “And I don’t know what to do, which is why I’m calling you, you jackass.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know! Give me some advice? Anything?”

“Right, because I have _loads_ of experience working with strippers-turned-coworkers I’ve accidentally fucked.”

“It wasn’t an accident. My face didn’t just fall onto her crotch. It was intentional. And...nice.” Hill paused. “I went back, you know. I don’t do hit-it-and-quit-its. I wanted to ask her out. Coffee, dinner, whatever.”

“Like _Pretty Woman_ ,” Wilson said. “But really gay.”

“No!” Hill replied. She sighed. “Maybe a little, yeah.” Wilson cackled again, and Hill added, “It’s a compelling narrative!”

Wilson cooled down enough to reply, “Alright, alright. Look, if I may be so bold, it sounds like you got your answer already.”

Hill replayed the last few minutes of their conversation in her head. “I think I missed something.”

“Why didn’t you ask her out?”

“She wasn’t there when I went back. I couldn’t find her.”

“Well, you found her.”

“Still not following.”

“Ask her _out_.”

“Oh.” Hill chewed on the idea. “But we’re partners. It’s against the rules.”

“So?”

“So we could get _fired_. Or Fury will kill us. Or Fury could set us on fire, which in retrospect is probably the most likely outcome.”

Background noise crackled over the line. Hill pulled the phone away from her ear.

“Sorry about that,” Wilson said. “Hey, I gotta head out, but I promise I got your back no matter what you decide, okay? I’m gonna crack this case and be back soon, so maybe keep it in your pants long enough you can hold out.”

“I’ll try.”

“Stay strong. Keep me posted.”

They said their goodbyes. Hill reluctantly got out of her car to face the rest of the work day.

***

Hill froze in the doorway upon seeing Barnes perched on Natash-- _Romanoff’s_ desk, amid regaling her a story. She smiled at him in that overly-polite, placating way that overbearing men never seemed to understand was strained and condescending.

Rogers was, as usual, working. But his shoulders were shrugged up like he was trying to make himself smaller than he really was. He looked at Hill when she entered, and they gave each other a brief glance of unspoken solidarity over what was obviously transpiring, though Hill wasn’t sure how much Rogers had necessarily picked up on. Nor was she sure she knew as much about his feelings for Barnes as there was to know.

Hill cleared her throat as she sat down at her desk across from Romanoff.

“Oh, hey, Hill,” Barnes said, all charm, like the kind of used car salesman that could pull one over on you so efficiently you’d leave the lot with a ‘68 VW camper.

Hill could feel heat rise to her face, and bit out more harshly than she intended, “While I’m sure Officer Romanoff is enjoying your reenactments of syndicated _CSI_ , I think we’re going to need some quiet time to get any work done this afternoon.”

Barnes glared at her, a piercing stare that belied his happy-go-lucky facade and felt like an icicle running up her spine. There was probably a reason he became a cop, and she didn’t want to know what it was.

He slid off Romanoff’s desk, his smile firmly back in place as he told Romanoff, “We’ll pick back up later?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Then she fidgeted in her seat and cleared her throat. “Now that we’re all here, I wanted to address the elephant in the room.”

All eyes turned to her. She lined up a manilla folder so that it ran parallel to the edge of her desk. She straightened a pen to be perpendicular. “I know we all met under...strange circumstances--”

“No kidding,” Rogers muttered, and Barnes lobbed a pencil at his head. Rogers dodged it.

“But I’d like us to all be professional about this, and I request that you rethink anything you thought you knew about me. None of it,” she leveled a look between the three of them, “was real.”

The tension that had suffocated the room rapidly evaporated. A melancholy, stunned feeling entered in its wake, silent but for the quiet buzz of air conditioning.

“That said,” Romanoff continued, “I’m excited to be here, and I’m looking forward to working with all of you.”

Her words were met with more silence, until finally Rogers said, “We’re glad to have you, Officer Romanoff. Welcome to the team.”

Barnes snapped out of his reverie and said, “Yeah, absolutely.”

Hill gave Romanoff a small smile, unsure if the pit of discomfort in her stomach was due to relief or disappointment. Or her questionably dated egg sandwich for lunch.

Romanoff smiled back, but it felt like getting stabbed in the heart with a rusty butter knife.

Disappointment, then.

***

“What do you think that meant?” Bucky said, trailing behind Steve in the parking lot. “‘None of it was real.’”

“It means exactly what it sounds like,” Steve replied. “Don’t be that guy.”

“What guy?”

“The guy who feels entitled to sex workers’ attention because they’re paid to like him.”

Bucky stopped short, but Steve didn’t notice until he was fiddling with his keys. He turned around. “What?”

“Is that what you think this was?” Bucky looked hurt for real, and it twisted something ugly inside Steve to put that look on his face.

“No, Buck, I didn’t mean it like that--”

“You think I have a crush on a stripper just because she paid attention to me a couple times.”

“C’mon, you barely knew her then, which makes her a total stranger now.”

“Am I not allowed to want to get to know her? Is it a crime to possess innate interest in someone and pursue that interest to see what happens?”

Steve opened his car door and tossed his briefcase inside. “Is your interest really that innocent?”

“Look at me, Steve.” Bucky pointed to his face. “I’m the picture of innocence.”

An image flooded Steve’s mind--Steve bent over his desk, scrabbling for purchase; Bucky fucking him until he couldn’t see straight--otherwise known as the fantasy he’d been jerking it to for years. He swallowed hard. “Right, yeah. You’re a regular Eagle Scout.”

Bucky held up three fingers in salute, but they were his index, middle, and pinky fingers, ring finger held down by his thumb. He winked at Steve while walking backward toward his car.

“So what’s the plan?” Steve called to him.

“You, me, Hill, Romanoff. Drinks after work tomorrow.” Bucky put on his motorcycle helmet and hopped on his bike.

***

“You’re really pretty, Officer Ro-man-off!” a kid shouted from somewhere in the middle of the room.

Romanoff laughed and said, “Thank you!” She gestured to Hill, who was on her knees setting up the CPR demonstration. “What about my partner here, Officer Hill?”

Several children nodded in agreement. The kid who shouted first shouted again, “She’s pretty too!”

Hill blew a lock of hair out of her face. “Thanks. But law enforcement isn’t a total beauty pageant.”

“It’s also about saving lives,” Romanoff continued, sounding obnoxiously like an after-school special.

At first, Hill had worried that going from undercover stripping to elementary school safety demonstrations would be a difficult transition for Romanoff. As it turned out, she was very wrong about that. Romanoff kept the same practiced, confident ease in front of kids that she had on El Greco’s stage, like her entire persona was created externally, based on whoever was watching her. She was sinfully sweet educating children, whereas she was just downright sinful as a stripper, but either way, Hill was still totally, horribly entranced by her.

Like right now, Romanoff was telling the kids goodbye as they rushed out of the room toward their next class. The one who called her pretty had her arms roped around Romanoff’s middle in a hug. Romanoff smiled at the kid, then looked at Hill to ask something, but the words were silenced in the cloud of soft-focus, dumbfounded revelry that was distracting Hill’s attention.

“Officer Hill?” Romanoff asked again.

Hill shook herself from her stupor. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Can I have a hug?” shouted the kid from a couple feet below her.

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” Hill leaned down and gave the kid a hug.

“Thank you for the safety dem-on-stration!” she said, and rushed off to class.

Romanoff and Hill started packing up all the equipment, alone in the room.

“That was fun,” Romanoff said, rolling up some tubing.

“So which do you like better?” Hill threw the duffel over her shoulder. “Desk jockeying or undercover work?”

“After what happened, I’ll take desk jockey for the foreseeable future.” Romanoff passed the cruiser keys to Hill, who took them. Their hands brushed. Hill didn’t have much stock in telepathy, but when their eyes met, she felt a surge of electricity between them, an unbridled force of memory burrowing its way into her mind--the way Natasha’s skin felt under her palms, the way she tasted--

“Wait,” Hill interrupted herself, “what happened?”

Romanoff’s eyebrow quirked minutely, and she glanced around the empty room before pulling up her shirt. Hill opened her mouth to protest, but was immediately suffocated by her heart leaping into her throat. Romanoff stopped just above her hipbone to reveal a healing slug wound.

“Shit,” Hill said. “I wish I’d known.”

“You couldn’t have. You win some, you lose some. Just the luck of the draw.” Romanoff tucked her shirt back in and headed out of the room, Hill trailing behind her.

“Still, I got this feeling, you know?” She didn’t want to say too much about their night at El Greco’s for fear of further imminent rejection.

“I did too, but unfortunately gut instinct isn’t enough to put anyone behind bars.”

“I really am sorry though.”

“You say that like you’ve been shot before.”

“More times than I care to count.”

A comfortable silence filled the air between them as they walked down the empty hallway. “Speaking of shots,” Romanoff said, “are you going to Barnes’ thing tonight?”

“I was thinking about it. Why?”

Romanoff shrugged. “I think it’d be fun.”

“To watch Barnes trip all over himself around you?”

“Come on, it’s not like that.”

“I’ve seen dogs drool less over steak.”

“He has a little crush. He’ll get over it.”

“You don’t know Barnes like I do. He’s the most loyal, steadfast bastard I’ve ever known. Like a puppy. But with a manbun.”

“So was that a yes-you’ll-be-there?”

Hill sighed. “I guess my frozen lasagna can take a rain check.”

Romanoff grinned up at Hill in response. God help her.

***

“You know I’m undercover, right?” Sam asked. “I’m on a case. I can’t be your melodrama referee.”

“Who else am I going to talk to about this?” Steve replied. He emptied the little bucket of kibble into Lucky’s bowl. The quick clatter of paws echoed into the kitchen, followed immediately by Lucky.

“You have a roommate.”

“Clint doesn’t know anything about this.” Steve leaned against the kitchen counter, his phone pressed to his ear.

“You have an ex.”

“Tony doesn’t talk to me anymore.”

“You have a best friend.”

“This is _about_ my best friend.”

Sam sighed. “This is so fucked up. Was it this fucked up even a week ago?”

“You were here a week ago.”

“So I’m the peacekeeper. Great.”

“I take it Maria’s been keeping you up to date?”

“More than you ever wanna know--Hey, why don’t you talk to Maria about this?”

“Maria hates me.”

“Maria hates everyone. I promise she only hates you a little bit. She may even find you tolerable.”

Lucky finished his dinner and Steve opened the sliding glass door to let him outside. “How can Maria help?”

“I’m gonna pause this conversation while you put that pretty blond head of yours into gear.”

Steve bit his tongue from saying anything crass, and instead tried to figure out what Sam was telling him without actually telling him. Maria calling Sam about drama. The way Maria looked after they all went to El Greco’s for the last time. The shade of green she turned when she saw Natasha. How quick-tempered she’s been toward Bucky since Natasha joined--

“Oh,” Steve said.

“Yeah.”

“Maria likes Natasha.”

“Mhm.”

“Bucky likes Natasha.”

“One more.”

“I like Bucky.”

“And where does that leave us, class?”

“Totally fucked.”

“Bingo.”

“But who does Natasha like?”

“Based on what I understand of the situation, probably none of you. And that’s definitely in her best interest.”

“I’m not a jealous person, you know,” Steve said, watching out the window as Lucky sniffed around the yard.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I’ve seen Bucky sleep with any girl who gave him the time of day for years. But he never, I don’t know, _liked_ any of them. He just wanted to fuck them. Natasha is the first person I’ve ever seen him like-like.”

“You sound like a fourth grader.”

Steve ignored him. “And I knew I had feelings for him, but I was willing to let those dwindle in hopes...you know, I meet someone else. Someone not-straight.”

“Are we sure Barnes is straight?”

“He thought _I_ was straight, Sam. The only people who meet me and think I’m capable of even the slightest feats of heterosexuality are themselves straight.”

“Look, this is a stupid, childish situation involving four people’s livelihood and stunted emotional capacity. But the only way to solve any of it is to be the only actual damn adult. Tell Barnes how you feel. Go from there.”

“What are my other choices?”

“Team up with Hill and sabotage any chance he has with Romanoff.”

“I like that option better.”

“I was being facetious--”

“Thanks, Sam. Good luck on the case,” Steve said, and hung up.

He pulled up a blank text to Maria--how had he never texted her before?--and typed, _Ignoring my motivation, I don’t want Bucky and Nat to hook up._

He watched as the little ellipses rose and fell, and in a handful of seconds, Maria replied, _Thank fuck I’m not alone in this._ _Ignoring my motivation also._

_S: What do we do?_

_M: Keep Barnes and his disgusting charisma away from her_

_S: I like his disgusting charisma._

_M: I thought we were keeping motivation out of this_

_S: Right. Keep Bucky from pulling the stops. I can do that._

_M: And I can keep her distracted from him_

_S: Until what?_

_M: Until our motivations can’t be ignored anymore_

***

Three shots in and Operation: Clubbing was going splendidly. Diablos was no El Greco’s, but the music was loud and the drinks were cheap and no one took off their clothes, so Bucky figured it was their best bet.

He slammed his shot glass on the table. Natasha followed right after, her cute nose wrinkling with distaste. “I hate tequila!” she shouted over the music.

“What do you prefer?” Bucky asked.

“Vodka. I’m Russian.”

Bucky hoisted his torso closer to the bartender to order another round. By the time his feet touched the ground again, two more shots were pushed in front of them. “To new beginnings!” Bucky said. They clanked glasses and shot.

Steve approached and thunked Bucky on the shoulder.

“Steve!” Bucky said, and hugged him. Maria followed closely behind, their small circle pushing Bucky a solid foot away from Natasha, which was the exact opposite direction he wanted to go.

“We’re already a few drinks in,” Bucky explained. A new song picked up and he asked Natasha, “Do you want to dance?”

Natasha nodded, and Bucky leaned toward Steve to say, “Get caught up and meet us on the dance floor!”

As he was walking away, Steve stopped him. Bucky waited for him to say something, but he shook his head and said, “We’ll be right over.”

***

Hill slid over a fiver to pay for her beer and leaned back against the bar. “I don’t dance.”

“Neither do I,” Rogers explained. “We may have to make an exception.”

She glanced over at the dance floor, and while she couldn’t see much, she could see Barnes and Natasha steadfastly squashing the Holy Spirit.

An obvious eighteen year old with a martini walked past Hill. “We could pull out the badges and put the place on lockdown.”

Rogers tracked the kid also. “I feel like that might be too far.”

“Start a fight?”

“Too illegal.”

Hill held up her glass. “So we’re really gonna do this?”

They toasted. “Go big or go home.”

***

Steve shoved two more shots in Bucky’s hands. “Are these for me?” Bucky asked with unbridled enthusiasm.

“Your favorite,” Steve said into his ear.

Bucky downed them and set them on a nearby table. Maria managed to take up Natasha’s attention, but before Bucky could do anything about it, Steve was in front of him. Dancing. Or something like it.

Steve Rogers. Mr. Paperwork Extraordinaire. Nary a hair out of place. Irons his fucking jeans. Never pulls his gun unless someone is actively shooting at him. Doesn’t even like giving traffic tickets because it makes him feel guilty. _Dancing._ With _Bucky._

And gay apparently! Who knew, right? Not Bucky. Nope, Bucky never thought about it before. Not once. Not even at home, alone, naked on his bed, two seconds from climax trying to push himself over. Certainly never thought about what it would take to get Steve to let loose a little, what those broad shoulders and shredded abs would look like all tensed up, cheeks pink and the tips of his ears red too--

The booze maybe went a little to Bucky’s head, and all he could see were flashing lights, and all he could feel were Steve’s hands on him, and all he wanted was to get closer, to touch a little more, mess up his perfectly coiffed hair and taste his lips.

Sharp blue eyes staring into his, the ones he looked at every day, but not like this. Not burning right through him, body big and hard, hips lined up and grinding against each other. Bucky roped his arms around Steve’s neck to get closer, close his eyes and breathe him in. Steve gripped his hips and moved against him in this filthy way that made Bucky’s stomach flip, his breath catch, hardening in his jeans so fast that should have been embarrassing. He could feel Steve’s lips against his neck, brushing over his skin.

“Buck--” Steve said, a murmur, a promise.

Nope. No way. This was too far. 

Bucky pulled back. Swallowed hard. His mouth felt dry and the ground spun underneath him. “I gotta…” he began. “I’m gonna get some water.”

“Let me come with you.”

“No, no...I’m...I’ll be right back.”

The room spun. Bucky’s chest felt tight. He could barely breathe. He felt like the whole world was upside down as he clumsily made his way outside.

***

Hill watched him go, Rogers following a few feet behind. She had no idea what just transpired, but her gut told her it wasn’t good.

“Is James okay?” Romanoff asked.

Honestly, Hill didn’t actually give a damn, because her hands were on Romanoff and that was the most important thing right now. But Romanoff didn’t seem to think so. Up until now, they’d been having fun: Romanoff--no, Hill reminded herself, _Natasha_ \--subtly teaching her how to dance, smiling and laughing and having some good, light-hearted-albeit-tipsy fun.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Hill replied. “Rogers takes good care of him.”

“I’m gonna go see what’s wrong,” Natasha said, and wove her way gracefully through the crowd.

Hill expended a weary sigh and followed.

***

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” Steve told Maria from the club patio. He watched as Natasha sidled up to Bucky like a wounded animal, Bucky leaning against his bike with his face in his hands. Steve couldn’t begin to parse out what was in his head.

“Do I want to know what happened?” Maria asked.

Steve shrugged. “I don’t even know what happened.”

He watched as Natasha placed a placating hand on Bucky’s arm. Though Steve couldn’t hear their conversation, it probably went along the lines of, “You’re too drunk to drive.”

Bucky was a cop. He knew he was too drunk to drive, and Steve knew he wouldn’t do it. But Steve also knew that he would pretend to want to do it so that Natasha would offer him a ride home. And he would accept it. And when they got to his place, he’d ask her inside. And she would follow, because she’s a good person. Unlike Bucky.

Sure enough, both Steve’s and Maria’s cell phones beeped in their pockets. Steve pulled his out to find a group text from Natasha that read, _I’m going to take him home. I had fun though! We should do this again. See you both in the morning xo_

“Well," Steve said.

“Shit,” Maria replied.

She looked at him. Steve looked back. At the same time, they said, “We should follow them.”

***

What’s the point of being a cop if you don’t abuse your power a little? Not in the police-brutality way, but the spying-on-your-coworkers-for-your-own-personal-benefit way.

Hill watched from the street corner as Barnes opened his front door for Natasha and ushered her inside, significantly less drunk than he was acting ten minutes ago. Hill didn’t understand what Rogers saw in the kind of guy who would stoop so low as to prey on a woman’s kindness to get her in his house, but she was also apparently the kind of person who would creepily watch it all go down from a block away, jealousy twisting in her gut the entire time.

Rogers leaned over to open the glove compartment and rifle inside. His vehicle was impeccably clean, just like him, and for a fleeting moment, Hill was deeply grateful to have him on her side in this, if for no other reason than to have company as they each tumbled down the steep hill of moral ambiguity.

He pulled out a little kit, and Hill asked, “You keep bugs in your car?”

Rogers pushed open the door. “Never know when you might need them.”

Hill climbed out with him, glancing back and forth along the street to make sure they weren’t being followed, because what they were doing was _highly_ illegal, not to mention stupid.

Rogers inched behind some hedges along a brick wall until he made it to a window, whereupon he glanced inside. Hill squashed herself against him to look too, in the little thread holes of a set of closed blinds. She could see Barnes and Natasha in the kitchen, but it wasn’t the scene she expected. Barnes looked sullen and confused, and Natasha was filling up a glass of water from the tap.

Rogers stuck the bug on the window and started inching back, but he stumbled on a root and fell.

“What was that?” Natasha said from inside, and Barnes made his way toward the window.

“Shit,” Hill muttered and jumped down behind the hedge, right on top of Rogers, who stifled a groan of pain upon having a sharply angled, grown-ass woman using him as a gym mat.

Rogers shoved an earbud in Hill’s ear and one in his own. The ground was cold and uncomfortable, and Hill was acutely aware that their limbs were tangled together and that Rogers was breathing against her neck and they were both infinitely closer than either of them had any right to be, but Barnes’ voice in her ear said very clearly, “Probably a raccoon.”

***

Tonight wasn’t going as Bucky planned _at all_. Strike that, it was going exactly as he planned, but now he didn’t want anything to do with it. He was still kind of drunk. Natasha was at his house. Steve was...he had no idea, and he probably shouldn’t have bailed, but he maybe panicked a little and now he was here, with the girl he initially wanted to be here with, except now all he could think of was Steve.

Natasha handed him a glass of water. “Thanks,” Bucky said, and downed the whole damn thing to help clear his head.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight,” Natasha said with a coy smile. “It’s been fun, hanging out _with_ you instead of…”

“Being the entertainment?” Bucky ventured, hoping it wasn’t a taboo topic.

She grinned. “Yeah. But it was fun being the entertainment too.”

“What happened to ‘none of it was real’?”

“It wasn’t. That didn’t mean it wasn’t fun.”

“So how did all this--” Bucky made a vague gesture up and down her body, “happen?”

“You mean the stripping or the policing?”

“Both?”

“It’s not nearly the fall-from-grace story the mystery alludes to.”

“I still want to know,” Bucky replied, and besides, it was keeping his mind off of...other things.

She shrugged. “I was a dancer. Wealthy family, but not wealthy enough. After the recession, we lost everything, but I still wanted to dance. And I wanted to go to school, too. So I majored in criminal justice, minored in ballet, and paid for all of it with a pole. Then I became a cop, and I went undercover for a long time, got shot, and now I’m here, happily student debt free and getting to know my coworkers.”

She smiled at him again in the way that would have normally made his insides feel like they were melting, but now he didn’t feel...well, anything. “What about you?” she asked.

“Not nearly as interesting. Skated through high school. Two tours in Iraq. Here.”

“Well,” Natasha said, stepping toward him, “thank you for your service.”

Bucky held up his glass. “And thank you for yours.”

She found her way into his space. For a second he thought she was going to kiss him, but instead she reached behind him for a pad of paper and a pen. In neat cursive, she wrote, _I think we’ve been bugged._

Bucky took the pen from her and wrote, _WHAT_

Natasha gestured to the window, so Bucky tip toed over to it, where he had heard the strange noise. There was a little black dot at the corner, the exact brand that they used at the precinct and which Bucky knew for a fact Steve kept in his glove compartment. He went back to Natasha and wrote, _WHY?_

She gave him a deadpan look and wrote, _You know why_

_I REALLY DON’T_

_Steve is in love with you idiot_

_NO WAY_

_Yes way_

_WE’RE BEST FRIENDS_

_He obvs wants to be more_

_WHAT ABOUT YOU & HILL THO _

_What about me and Hill?_

_SHE WANTS TO BANG YOU_

_You really think so?_

_SCREEN DOOR, HURRICANE, ETC._

Bucky could see Natasha force down a smile, but her face was flushed. He added, _I THINK SHE WAS THROWN OFF BY THE ‘NONE OF IT WAS REAL’ THING_

_I did that so she wouldn’t feel awkward. And also to deter you from hitting on me_

_IT DIDN’T WORK_

_Obviously_

_WHAT DO WE DO NOW_

_Just play along ok_

Bucky nodded.

***

“What’s happening?” Steve whispered.

“What do you think is happening,” Maria hissed. “They’re probably making out or something.”

He sat up and yanked his ear bud out. “Abort mission.”

She yanked him back down and said, “Not yet.”

“I’m not going to listen to my best friend have sex with my coworker.”

“Just give it a minute, okay?”

Steve resentfully put the earbud back in.

***

Natasha put her hand on Bucky’s chest, looking up at him with a gorgeous set of eyes that any other night would have sent him spiraling. She made a loud sighing noise and moaned his name. “God, James, that feels so good…”

It took him a minute to understand. She grinned at him when he did, and then he picked her up to sit her on the counter, and loudly unzipped his jacket.

“I’m so wet for you already, James, give it to me.”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He managed to add, “Fuck baby, your pussy’s gonna feel so good.” For effect, he unbuckled his belt and snapped it from its loops before tossing it on the ground.

“James, I need to ask you something before we...” Natasha asked, high-pitched and unnecessarily sultry.

“Yeah, baby, anything you want.”

“You know my case?”

“Pierce, yeah.”

“What if I told you I need your help.” She let out a low groan and added, “Because I’m still working for Rumlow?”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky should have been an actor; he was great at this.

She lowered her voice from its breathiness into flatline seriousness. “The drug ring isn’t completely shut down. Because I didn’t shut it all the way down. Pierce is in prison and Rumlow’s headed south.”

“What does this have to do with you?”

“Being a cop doesn’t pay as well as I thought. Fury wants to put me undercover again to track Rumlow. I can’t keep playing this game by myself, though. I need someone to stay on the inside.”

“You’re a double agent,” Bucky said, scandalized. “That’s what you’re telling me right now.”

***

Hill nearly screamed, but Rogers clapped his hand over her mouth just in time.

“Shut up and listen,” he hissed.

“It sounds awful when you put it that way,” Natasha replied to Barnes.

“That’s because it is awful!” Barnes said. “Being a crooked cop is literally the worst thing you could do!” There was a long silent pause where Hill imagined Barnes was pinching the bridge of his nose. “So you’re undercover, and Rumlow knows you’re undercover, and what? You just feed Fury bad intel to string the case along?”

“More or less,” she said. “I’m in a bad situation, James.”

“No kidding, you fucking got shot. Or is that fake too?”

“No, I really did get shot. I just...made up the circumstances surrounding it is all.”

Another pause. Hill could hear her heartbeat.

“What do you need from me?” Barnes asked. “I’ll do anything.”

***

Steve yanked the earbud out again and jumped to his feet. Maria tried to drag him down again but he shook her off and stormed to the porch.

“Get back here!” Maria hissed at him. “We have to--”

But Steve was already at the front door, pounding on it with the side of his fist. He knew if they opened the door, he’d get an eyeful of something he didn’t want to see, and that all of them were about to get into a shitstorm of trouble, but he couldn’t let his best friend go crooked. He had to put a stop to it.

“Police,” he said firmly, “open up.”

Bucky opened the door looking pissed.

And fully clothed.

Natasha was sitting on the kitchen counter, also fully clothed, but decidedly less peeved than Bucky.

“You’re an asshole,” Bucky said.

Maria made her way beside Steve. She looked Bucky up and down, then peered behind him to see Natasha, who lifted her hand to give her a little wave.

“Oh,” Maria said. “You knew.”

“You’re damn right we knew,” Bucky replied. “What kind of assholes bug their friends?”

“Jealous assholes,” Natasha called from the kitchen.

“Jealous assholes,” Steve confirmed sadly. He couldn’t look Bucky in the eye.

Natasha hopped off the counter and headed toward the door. When she reached Bucky, she squeezed his shoulder and leaned up on her toes to kiss his cheek. She made her way past Steve and Maria, but grabbed Maria’s arm and took her down the steps toward her car. Maria gave Steve a short glance of solidarity.

“I’m going to bed,” Bucky said to Steve. “And when I wake up we’re going to pretend none of this fucking happened.”

“I don’t want that,” Steve said.

“I think we’ve had enough of what you want for the night.”

“Fine, what do you want?”

Bucky leaned against the doorjamb. “I want things to go back to the way they were.”

“And how was that?” Steve didn’t mean it to sound so combative.

Bucky made a flailing hand gesture. “Simple! I don’t know. We’re cops. We’re best friends. We go to strip clubs. It was a good life.”

“It wasn’t good for me. And I think if you give it some time, you’ll realize it wasn’t good for you either. I mean, you were in love with a stripper, Buck. You weren’t even in love with a real person, just the facade of one. You needed the fantasy to distract you from--”

Bucky glared at him. “From what?”

Steve sighed. “You know from what.”

“Goodnight, Rogers,” Bucky said, and closed the door.

***

“Mind giving a jealous asshole a ride home?” Hill asked, shoulders shrugged up awkwardly. They were standing by Natasha’s car. She could see Rogers and Barnes duking it out in the distance.

“Depends,” Natasha said.

“On?”

“Whether said jealous asshole might be willing to pay for it somehow.”

“I can give you gas money,” Hill said, reaching into her back pocket for her wallet.

Natasha smiled. “How about a kiss instead?”

“Oh.”

“Prepay only.”

“So, like…”

“Now, yeah.”

Hill wouldn’t deny Natasha anything. She took a step forward and pressed their lips together. It took her back to the night in the VIP room, thrilled her that Natasha kissed now like she did then--softly but with assertiveness. She parted Hill’s lips with her tongue and Hill pressed her against the side of the car. She’d only gotten a taste once before, but she still missed it. Still woke up every day wanting more.

When Natasha pulled away, Hill asked, “What happened to ‘none of it was real’?”

“It wasn’t,” she replied, “but I wanted it to be.” And she kissed Hill again.

***

**Two Weeks Later**

Bucky didn’t know how it came to this: trapped in a three-by-three closet with his ex-best-friend-slash-total-mess-of-a-human Steve fucking Rogers, waiting for backup in the form of Maria and Natasha who were probably making out in the back of a squad car because they couldn’t keep their hands off of one another anymore. Bucky was sorely tempted to mention it to Fury, but he kept conjuring retribution in the form of an assassination followed by his body being dumped in the Hudson. He knew Natasha was just kidding about the whole Rumlow thing, but he didn’t want to risk it.

Actually, he did know how it came to this: he got orders to go to a gas station on grounds of a robbery, but the second they walked inside, they were shoved into a closet which was promptly locked behind them.

He and Steve hadn’t spoken more than absolutely necessary since the night of the bugging. Steve wouldn’t make eye contact with him, and they were all waiting around until Sam could come back and set things right. Bucky didn’t know how, but it gave him hope at least.

“Buck,” Steve whispered. “We should talk.”

“Now’s not the time, Rogers,” Bucky replied.

“Quit calling me that.”

“It’s your name.”

“But it’s not what you call me. You call me Steve or Stevie or--”

“Jealous asshole.”

“That too. Just anything but Rogers.” Steve sighed. "I have something to tell you."

Bucky ignored him.

“I can’t do this anymore, Buck,” Steve said. “I requested a transfer.”

Bucky’s eyes darted to Steve’s; the closet was dark but a bit of light streamed through the door frame. He could feel Steve’s chest against his, the warmth of his breath. “Why?”

“Because it’s killing me to keep working with the man I’m in love with, who won’t even speak to me anymore. I don’t think either of us deserve to be in this situation.”

“What do you want me to do?” Bucky shot back, even though his heart was nearly pounding out of his chest hearing Steve use the term _in love_.

“Nothing,” Steve said. “That’s why I’m leaving.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Bucky admitted.

“You want me to stick around so you can torture me until one of us dies or retires.”

“I don’t want that either.”

Bucky’s eyes fell to Steve’s mouth, watching it form words that he wasn’t really hearing because he had become far too preoccupied with Steve’s lips. Lips he’d imagined so often pressed against his own, refusing to let the fantasy into the light of day. Steve had been right--the reason Bucky was so obsessed with Black Widow was because she was impossibly far away from him in every way. It was easy to pine after someone you didn’t have a chance with.

But Steve...Bucky knew, somewhere deep inside him, that if it happened between them, if they acknowledged it, it would become real. And they’d never let go of each other. And when the pressure of it became too much to bear, it was easier to stay friends and partners than it was to push their relationship further.

Steve was probably saying all of this, because he’d always been able to read Bucky’s mind anyway, so Bucky did something he knew Steve wouldn’t expect, if for no other reason than to get him to shut up.

He fisted his hand in the front of Steve’s uniform and kissed him.

It took Steve a few seconds to figure out what was going on, but as soon as he did, he pushed Bucky backward into the wall and kissed him like he needed it to live. Bucky had never been kissed with such earnest passion; it made him regret not kissing Steve sooner.

Steve froze mid-kiss and pulled away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pressure you--”

“Don't transfer," Bucky said. "We'll make it work. I can't lose you."

Steve kissed him again, and they were still making out when Natasha and Maria opened the door.

“Yay!” Natasha said.

“Fucking finally,” Maria added, and turned around to slide a twenty to the happy cashier who had shoved them in the closet. 

***

**Two More Weeks Later**

Sam Wilson approached his old office hesitantly. He imagined walking in and finding everyone sullen and stressed out, tension woven between all of them that they’d expect Sam to fix somehow, because they were all morons.

He hovered in front of the door, listening in. He couldn’t hear anything. They were probably in a silent stalemate, furiously working off their angst.

He opened the door.

The first thing he saw was Bucky, asleep at Steve’s desk, head leaning on his shoulder. Then Steve, with his fingers making a goal post, and Maria across from with her tongue between her teeth, flicking a paper football at him. And Natasha, suddenly leaping up from her chair to intercept the pass. She knocked the paper football so hard it sailed through the air and hit Sam right in the forehead.

They all turned to look at Sam. Bucky jerked awake.

“Hey, Sam,” he said, groggily and pretending he hadn’t been dead asleep a second ago.

“I hate all of you,” Sam replied.


End file.
